The way life should be, indeed.

Last week I returned home from a much-needed vacation in Maine, where I mainly (forgive me) ate and drank and slept and ate some more. It was glorious, not just because it was filled with my favorite things, but because the variety of ways in which I traveled proved that fine food and drink are easy to have, whether camping in a national park, cruising down the coast or living it up in the state's largest city. Planning proved as much of a necessity as impulse.

Maine has been on my radar for years, ever since a chef friend of mine left a prestigious gig in Boston for Portland's burgeoning (nay bourgeois) restaurant scene. And I'm not the only one. No sooner was the trip on the calendar than recommendations started pouring in from friends, co-workers past and present, even strangers. How, I wondered, could I possibly squeeze four lobster rolls into a week's time, plus what was rumored to be the world's best wild blueberry ice cream and coconut cream pie? What about the cooking I wanted to do? And the handful of Portland restaurants I wanted to check out?

So many meals, so little time, hardly a problem. Especially in Maine, "the way life should be".

The weeks leading up to my vacation were especially taxing, so my plan for Acadia National Park was simple: cook and eat the way I like. I packed various dry goods, such as farina, pasta and quinoa; nuts and seeds; and good olive oil and salt. I also brought a jar of mixed olives, a nice hard salami and a big hunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano courtesy of the folks at Bedford Cheese Shop, and a half-dozen lemons because I can't live without them. Finally, I brought money to shop along the way. In Belfast, Maine, my friend and I stopped by the co-op to get some local goodness, which was abundant. Bok choy, fiddleheads, young kale, all gorgeous and green, found their way into my basket, as did some pork chops and coffee. The last hour of the drive had me squirming with possibility, not to mention just plain hungry.

Upon arrival, we quickly set up camp and started a fire. During that time, I also brought a small pot of water to a boil on our awesome and indispensable camp stove. While the pasta was cooking, I washed and chopped the soft, young kale and used a paring knife to chip some nice chunks of cheese. To this I added a generous handful of pumpkin seeds, the juice of half a lemon and a drizzle of olive oil.

Simultaneously, the fire had grown hot enough to grill the pork chops, which I had rubbed with a little olive oil, salt and pepper. Cooking food over an open flame, whether it be pork, marshmallows, even bread, is pretty much the best thing ever, at least that's how I continue to feel about our meal that night. By the time the meat was seared, the pasta was done. Combined with the kale, etc., and plated cowboy style in a pie tin, we felt like rouge foodies. Our neighbors might have been snickering at our wine glasses, but you can't drink Montepulciano -- even a bargain one -- out of plastic. And why should we have? It's vacation.